


In My Veins

by nakiriknife



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alcohol, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 06:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11594565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakiriknife/pseuds/nakiriknife
Summary: It was a typical day of waiting for the pale light to burn into a fiery orange and then to nothing.  It made Roy wonder how people could believe the moon longed for the sun, their love infinite but unobtainable.





	In My Veins

        There was that familiar feeling that summoned a fire to emit from his veins.  The soft pressure of a pressed fingertip, the heat from a hot palm ghosting over his skin.  It bended the lightning in his nerves and made him feel electrified.  There was nothing but static in his mind.  No words could be heard, but words weren't needed.  He didn't need to hear, he only needed to _feel_ and it was excruciating.  In strikes and soothing waves the pleasure slowly turned to pain and back.  A hot and cold feeling except it was never cold.  It was searing, melting his skin at the touch, boiling his blood with a breath.  She commanded it so. 

        The images had fled once his eyes sprung open.  He was met with a blinding ray of sunlight, aimed just perfectly at his face from where it peaked past the curtains.  Roy sighed, screwed his eyes shut and pulled the blanket over his head despite his body being sticky with sweat.  The darkness didn't help bring back the fleeting apparitions of his nightly imaginings.  It didn't matter though.  He felt it all over his body.  He was shivering with the pleasure and quaking from the pain.  It spread from his chest and shot down to the tips of his fingers, the ends of his toes and left him in a whirlwind of frustration. 

        Roy forced himself to stand, rolling off his mattress and kicking away his sheets lazily.  The only relief was the chill of his apartment caressing his naked body as he stood, but it didn't bring his groggy mind peace.  Emerald eyes set their sights on an empty bottle of whiskey, tipped over on his nightstand.  The stench of alcohol greeted his senses, but it was in no way greeted back so politely. 

        “Fuck," Roy grumbled, grasping the neck of the bottle and tilting his head back.  He opened his mouth, held the bottle over his tongue in a desperate need for every drop left.  He'd lap it off the damn floor like a dog if he had to get his fill for the morning.

        The clatter of the bottle barely registered to him.  Instead, he padded out into the heart of the home, each thrum of life echoing off the empty walls just as it rattles his ribcage.  There was nothing in particular he was searching for other than a change of scenery.  His room was littered with empty bottles, dirty clothes that had missed the hamper.  A darkness hung over it that was almost painful to lie under, but the pain brought comfort.  In the end he couldn’t help but burrow back underneath the sheets. 

        Roy had found that when there was nothing to look forward to, the days went by quickly.  Though, in a fucked up paradox, it felt like it took forever for the sun to set.  The rays of light still slipped past the sun shades, casting a soft white glow on the debris swaying in the air.  It caressed his bare back, coaxing him to rise with its gentle warmth.  It would have worked, if only he had answered the sun’s beck and call as he does the pain, the short opportunities of pleasure.  If only he had understood its whispering as those of a starless night. 

        As gentle as it was, the weight of it kept him lying still beneath the mess of his covers.  It was a typical day of waiting for the pale light to burn into a fiery orange and then to nothing.  It made him wonder how people could believe the moon longed for the sun, their love infinite but unobtainable.  Wasn’t it just a cycle of hate?  An odd fondness that you have for your enemy that bound you together?  You know, besides the overwhelming thought of throttling them, maybe even killing them orbiting within your mind.  After all, the sun burned away the moon’s darkness, but the moon lived to snuff out the sun’s light.  He thanked it every night for doing so. 

        The low hum of vibrations against his mattress topped with a glowing screen was enough to make his head feel as if it were splitting open with a painful _crack_.  It tore him from his thoughts, from the soothing voice of his own grief, making the urge to throw his phone the way he tossed empty bottles to the other side of the room much more difficult to resist.  Though, the sound of a loud bang or the shattering of glass grated his nerves, it would satisfy his anger just as well.  However, his phone lied safely on the mattress, settling into the quiet he so suddenly desired before going off in a frenzy of uneven and repeated chimes.

        He never considered that he’d receive any messages after spending a few days like this, barely eating and always drinking, too tired to get up but too wired to fall asleep.  Roy could remember a time where he would kill for this much attention, for someone to reach out to him and showed that they cared.  Sometimes that desperate child would scream for that attention again, but now — now he wanted for it to be quiet.  He wanted his own voice to soothe him into a false sense of security, lull him back to sleep until the next nightmare shook him awake. 

        Though, as it was then, he didn’t get what he so desired.

        One message came toppling after the other, making it all the more harder to ignore.  Did it even make sense to get angry over being worried about?  Well, it didn’t matter because he was angry and his impatience only grew with each time he heard his phone ring.  He spared a glance towards the screen, skipping in reading the actual message to instead look over the names of those messaging him. 

        The first few were from Dick, but that was no surprise.  Concerned leader, good friend and most regrettably, a man that knew more about Roy than he did himself.  Luckily, he knew enough to give him some room to breathe.  If Roy wanted to talk, he’d go to someone on his own, but he rather punch Grayson than pour his heart out to him of all people. 

        The majority of texts were from Lilith and only after she had called a few times in the morning then again in the afternoon.  Of course she’d be the second to know something was wrong.  After all, Roy never confirmed with her how it all went, giving her every damn detail like some gossiping school girl.  That and her psychic abilities, of course. 

        A few were from Garth, though only on behalf of Lilith.  They were short and varied in time, things like “ _Are you okay?”_ sent at 11:34AM and _“Lilith is worried..”_ at 1:02PM, _“Answer your phone”_ at 6:58PM. 

        Roy knew he wasn’t being very fair.  Garth cared, he knows that.  Though, being angry with himself was tiring and it was a relief to find someone else to shift the blame to…  Even if it wasn’t anyone else’s fault but his own.  If he couldn’t direct his anger towards Lilith for convincing him to act then he would do it to everyone else who knew of it and for thinking that it was a good idea.  He’d go as far as to blame those for not stopping him if they thought otherwise.

        He allowed the white fury to grow.  Had Lilith not shoved all those ideas of what could have been, he wouldn’t be tangled in a web of his own emotions.  Roy was content with those little white lies.  He wanted nothing more than to know nothing, to have seen nothing, but he allowed her to flood his heart with hope.

        Roy was content with breaking his own heart, but he wasn’t when someone else did.  And they had.  They didn’t mean to.  They didn’t know.  But they had.

        Wafting within the draft of his apartment, Roy swore he smelt roses.  It was light and airy when he walked in, the feeling bubbling within his stomach and fluttering within his chest.  To be nervous was a terrible feeling, but he couldn’t help but feel good in that moment.  His throat tightened with each time he rehearsed what he wanted to say, how he wanted to say it, how he wanted to look and react at what he hoped would be a positive response. 

        It had never occurred to him to prepare for a negative one, despite his reluctance to confess due to that very thought. 

        Each footstep brought him closer to the threshold.  Each footstep had his heart pounding harder and his hands sweating so much he had to constantly switch the bouquet from his left hand to his right and back again.  Though, somehow he had convinced himself — let Lilith convince him it would all work out.  Had he worked quickly enough, of course.

        No one was faster than the fastest man alive though, right?

        Each footstep brought him closer to the threshold, but he had never crossed it.  He was never aware that it was a race.  Each footstep had his heart pounding faster only for his body to come down with a cold sweat, the bouquet falling into the trash so he needn’t worry about it slipping from his hands.  If he knew, he would have never spent the money on those flowers. 

        Had he not took the time for the gesture, maybe he would have crossed the finish line first. 

        With a loud roar, Roy threw his phone with all the strength he could muster.  The bang against the wall appeased him in a way that was almost carnal, but a ringing in his ears kept him from hearing it fall to the floor.  It wasn’t the only thing that had slipped his senses though. 

        A knock at the door grew louder in volume, hammering on the wood with increasing aggression.  He wasn’t sure if it slowly grew with the visitor’s impatience or if it had started like that.  It demanded for him to get up, burdened his shoulders with the weight of company.  It felt like a chore to entertain a guest, to get up and pick a pair of dirty pajama pants to pull on, but he guessed everyone had to do their chores eventually.  So, when he finished tying the loose strings around his waist and rubbed the sadness away from his eyes, Roy answered to the visitor’s demands.

        A loud shout of his name pierced his ears upon answering the door, but the anger behind it wasn’t what struck him.  It was who spoke that did.  The words left the glossed lips of the last and first person he wanted to see.  A woman with flawless skin and ebony hair that fell in gentle waves.  Her eyes, which he would normally describe as a warm summer sky, were now hard as ice with her frustration.  Donna always stared at him with those eyes, but no matter how cold it was, it was so captivating that it made Roy’s chest tighten and squeeze painfully around his heart. 

        Maybe the moon does long for the sun, infinite and unobtainable.

**Author's Note:**

> I was really angry with the new release of Wally and Donna getting together so here is Roy's perceived aftermath by me.


End file.
